


An Interlude

by misha_anon



Series: A Rustle of Wings [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discovery, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rutting, Wing Kink, Wing Maintenance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gets cranky when his feathers are turned the wrong way, but Dean's always happy to give him a hand and help figure out their shared interests in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the season premiere because _something_ that about Supernatural today shouldn't be painful.

It's been three days since Castiel had the time or privacy to properly care for his wings.  The injury to his leg was minor, but he's been slow to heal of late and at Dean's insistence; he's stayed close.  It seems as though every time he thinks he will have the time needed to sort and smooth his feathers, Dean interrupts.  As the hours tick by, Castiel slides closer and closer to a state of constant, snappish annoyance.  The prickle of misaligned feathers that was merely an irritant yesterday is downright painful today.  

When Dean announces a sudden need to go pick up a six-pack of beer _alone_ , Castiel feels both relieved and a little guilty.  He promises that he'll be here in this little motel room in Jackson, Wyoming when Dean comes back and yes, perhaps he _will_ take a nap while he waits.  Dean likewise promises to be back as soon as he possibly can, but really he's not sure where the nearest beer is to be found so it could be a little while, and a nap would probably be Castiel's best bet.

The rumble of the Impala lets him know that Dean is gone and with a sigh that feels as though it's been trapped in his lungs for decades, Castiel strips deliberately out of the slightly-too-large t-shirt he slipped into when he woke up.  He rolls his neck from side to side slowly, willing the bunched up muscles to relax as he slowly allows his wings to manifest in the outside world.  As they unfurl naturally to his sides, Castiel pushes them further, stretching one and then the other and taking a deep, relieved breath.

He sits at the edge of the bed, wings dipping low as the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders finally begin to relax.  Castiel savors the way the air currents caress his sensitive feathers, sending almost-tickling sensations shivering down his wings.  It's a shame; he decides, that he can't walk through the world with his wings in full view.  He lifts them into a high arch, looking up to inspect the tips as they brush the ceiling and smiles at how good it feels to stretch out in peace.

He gives his wings a mighty shake, finding the small but resounding _crack_ that fills his ears immensely satisfying.  The first indication that he's no longer alone comes in the form of warm fingers curling over the top of his left wing.  Castiel lurches to his feet, an undignified yelp escaping as he turns quickly, nearly knocking Dean over in the process.  Dean's eyes are wide as he scrambles off the bed and to his feet in front of Castiel.

"Dean!"  Castiel growls, glaring as he takes a step back, wings pulled protectively against his sides.  "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"I _did_ ," Dean replies defensively.  "I said, 'Hey, Cas, I'm back' when I opened the door."

He searches Dean's face for any sign that he's lying but finds none.  Dean wets his lips, staring, transfixed by each of Castiel's wings in turn.  His voice is softer when he speaks again.  "Your wings are a mess."

"I was going to fix them," Castiel answers, unable to check his sullen tone.  "Now, it will have to wait."

"Don't be such a baby, Cas."  Dean takes a step forward, reaching out as he does so.  Castiel moves to back away, but Dean's hand lands softly on his shoulder.  The touch sends warmth curling through Castiel's grace and in the half-second it takes for Dean to guide him back to sit on the edge of the bed, he discards the idea of denying himself the pleasure of straightened feathers.  Dean's gaze settles on Castiel's, bright and green and curious, and Castiel nods assent.

Castiel makes himself comfortable while Dean crawls up the bed, wings moving naturally to rebalance himself with every movement of the shifting mattress.  Warmth rolls off Dean's body in waves as he settles to kneel behind Castiel.  His touch is tentative, fingertips trembling as they trace the upper edge of Castiel's wings.  The touch does nothing to relieve the itch under thick feathers and Castiel's wings jerk instinctively away.

"Sorry," Dean mutters and Castiel would almost _swear_ he sounds embarrassed.  When he tries to answer, though, Castiel feels warmth creeping up his own cheeks.  He clears his throat noncommittally and forces himself to relax again.

Dean's touch grows bolder, fingers curling over the edges of wings as he makes smoothing motions out from the center of Castiel's body.  Cas lets his head drop, chin to chest, and relaxes into the soothing touch.  Dean shifts again, massaging along the heavy top of Castiel's left wing with both hands, fingers finding sore spots and working them in gentle circles until the muscles relax.  It sends a tingling warmth through Castiel that curls in his belly and sets his cheeks aflame.

Before long, Dean's fingers comb through Castiel's feathers.  Each brush of fingertips against the skin beneath draws a soft-hitched breath from Castiel's throat until he finds himself pressing his wing back into Dean's hands and savoring the twisting motion of fingers separating and smoothing feathers a handful at a time.  Dean's body warms and his fingers begin to tremble again as he moves outward toward the tip of Castiel's wing, gripping and twisting gently, and resettling the feathers where they belong.

By the time he reaches the tip of Castiel's wing and begins a slow trek back, carefully ensuring each feather is where it belongs, Castiel's head feels dizzy from forgetting to breathe and his body feels electric, oversensitized, _alive_.  The kiss to the back of his neck comes as a surprise, wet and open-mouthed and with Dean sucking at the skin so hard it almost hurts.  Castiel tries to swallow the groan that bubbles up, tries to ignore the growing discomfort of his hardening cock; but when Dean's hand curves over the top of his right wing, it's impossible.

"Dean," he whispers, mouth suddenly dry.

Dean doesn't answer other than to press a gentle kiss over wet skin before he starts to massage down the curve of Castiel's right wing.  Castiel draws a sharp breath as Dean's free hand curls around his bare waist.  The intimacy of the touch is unexpected, though hardly unwelcome.  Dean's hand is warm, an anchoring point as his other hand traces the bones and muscles that live under feathers and Castiel closes his eyes, breath coming in soft pleasured huffs.

"You like that, Cas?" Dean's voice is whiskey rough; his breath warm on Castiel's skin.  His fingers move surely, slowly through Castiel's feathers, twisting and tugging them straight.  Castiel swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing tightly with the effort.

"Yes," he finally manages to answer, trailing off into a moan when Dean's nails scrape lightly against his hipbone and the skin of his wing in turn.  " _Yes_."

Dean's chuckle is soft and warm, rumbling in the air between them as he shifts closer.  He tugs backward on Castiel's hip, pulling him more firmly onto the bed as he continues to straighten feathers.  Castiel loses track of Dean's hands, loses himself in the crash of warmth that flows off Dean's body as kiss after soft kiss is pressed to the back of his neck, to his shoulders, to his wings.  He doesn't notice when Dean stops fixing his feathers and starts just tugging, softly at first and then more insistently.

Castiel's cock is aching hard, constrained by jeans and underwear.  He's so focused on the damp warmth of Dean's ragged breath on his wings that he barely notices when the feather tugging stops and Dean's thighs close against his hips.  The press of Dean's muscular chest to his wings comes as a surprise, as does Dean's palms splayed against his stomach.  His muscles tense under the touch and Dean takes the hint, moving to unbutton his jeans without hesitation.

One hand slides into his jeans, pushes them out of the way with his underwear, frees his cock to the chill of the room.  Castiel's breath hisses through clenched teeth as Dean's fingers slip along the precome slick head of him.  He tilts his head away, bares his neck for Dean's lips.  It's uncomfortable, wings pinned between his back and Dean's chest, but it feels somehow right.  Dean takes full advantage of the long line of his neck, kissing and nibbling, lips teasing even as fingertips tease the sensitive spot just below the head of his dick.

"Dean, _please_ ," he groans, wings jerking in the tight space between their bodies and almost upending the man behind him.

"Yeah, yeah I hear you," comes Dean's breathless answer.  He wraps a loose fist around Castiel's cock and starts to stroke slowly, drags the fingertips of his other hand up Castiel's side until they connect with his wing again.  Castiel shifts, giving Dean room and Dean takes full advantage of that, too.

Fingers tangle in his feathers, twist and tug in time with the slowly increasing pace of the fingers on his cock.  Heat rises in Castiel's cheeks again until they burn, and he feels the flush down his chest, spreading warm to wrap around his grace.  When Dean lets his guard down in moments like this, Castiel can feel the heat of his soul, the adoration, and wonder and red-hot need, and it takes his breath away.  His wing jerks in Dean's hand at the feeling of a particularly rough pull and he cries out, muscles clenching to push into Dean's fist.

Dean's teeth close on the top of Castiel's shoulder, sending a spasm to the tips of his wings and all the way down to the soles of his feet.  He leans back into it, into the biting and obnoxious yanks of his feathers, scrabbling at the blanket and trying desperately to find more friction from Dean's loose grip.  The position is too awkward, too twisted and uncomfortable, and the need that scratches at the base of Castiel's skull - the need to touch all of Dean and do it right now - pushes him to move.  

Castiel ignores the twinge in his almost healed leg as he turns, his wing catching Dean and depositing him unceremoniously on his back in the middle of the bed.  He allows his wings to flare out and Dean's eyes go wide to match his parted lips.  A slow grin spreads over his blushed-and-freckled face as Castiel descends, legs tangling naturally as the head of his cock presses against rough denim.  Castiel's lips find Dean's, slack and wet and imprecise.

Dean presses up, hips working in a steady rhythm as their bodies crash and grind, moans slipping between their lips interspersed with half-hearted kisses and bites.  It's Dean's hands on Castiel's hips, fingers tight and pushing and pulling that helps him find a matching rhythm of his own.  As Castiel hisses and growls, savoring the drag of sensitive skin on jeans, he feels those warm hands trailing up his back.  He shivers with anticipation, body tightening as he thrusts harder, quicker.  

When Dean's fingers bury in his feathers, twist and pull; Castiel presses a hard kiss, deep and wet, tongue fucking against Dean's frantically.  His head spins with the overwhelming pleasure of too many sensations at once, none of them quite enough.  Dean's fingers curl once more over the tops of Castiel's wings, pulling, nails digging into the flesh beneath the feathers, and Castiel breaks away from the kiss and throws his head back.

A long, guttural cry is the only sound he can manage as he fucks brutally against Dean's hip, the heat in the pit of his stomach exploding through his veins like lava and ice water all rolled into one.  His cock twitches, pulsing wet heat that slicks denim and adds a new layer of sensation that's so good Castiel feels as though he'll break apart.  Dean's breath comes in harsh gasps as his hips jerk and stutter up to meet each downward thrust, his fingers curling and releasing in sweat-damp feathers.

"Shit, Cas," Dean growls, stomach muscles twitching against Castiel's as his body curls.  It's his turn to kiss, inelegant and more a bite that stings Castiel's lower lip and brings tears to his eyes when coupled with the tight pull of once again misaligned feathers.  Their hips jerk erratically; stuttering with the need to wring every bit of pleasure from the moment until Castiel's trembling body gives up any pretense of holding its own and he collapses in a panting heap on top of Dean.

He presses idle, distracted kisses to whatever skin his lips can find, bites and licks the saltsweatwetness of the man beneath him.  Dean's fingers roam over the span of his wings, just as idle.  They flatten over the curve of Castiel's lower back, pull his hips closer, squeeze his ass.  Castiel feels as though he should say something, but words escape him as he floats in the haze of pleasure, Dean's muscular chest finally starting to slow on more even breaths.

"Wow," Dean groans finally, shifting under his weight and laughing, sudden and loud.  "Fuck."

"Yes," Castiel answers, nodding emphatically, though he's not entirely sure what he's agreeing with.


End file.
